


A Love Unholy

by mznaughty01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mznaughty01/pseuds/mznaughty01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse had come to pass. Dean made it happen. Now he wanted his brother back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Love Unholy

The apocalypse had come to pass. These were the end of times or, at least, it was the end of times for life as it had been because an altered version of life, a new reality, did exist. Demons had the freedom to do as they pleased now, had their pick of meatsuits to occupy, violate and discard as they saw fit. Though there were still wars fought with the relentless hosts of Heaven and scuffles with the surviving pockets of human resistance, they were few and far between and, in the meantime, Hell continued to reign on Earth.

Considering the Bible had gotten it so wrong, the apocalypse hadn’t happened as written so long ago. There had been no Rapture, no Tribulation, no Judgment Day.

More ironic was that the apocalypse also hadn’t happened as it was supposed to. Despite all of Azazel’s schemes, there had been no breaking of the seals, no opening of Lucifer’s cage in hell, no Lucifer walking the Earth.

When it came right down to it, only one thing had happened as intended: while on the rack, it had been a single decision made by a righteous man that had marked the beginning of the end. And even that hadn’t happened quite as foretold because the decision hadn’t been that righteous man shedding blood in Hell and thus breaking the first lock on Lucifer’s cage.

What that righteous man had done instead to set everything on its current path was made the conscious decision to become a demon after suffering through two hundred and forty years of torture.

A decision he’d made for one reason— _one person_.

“ _Saaaaam_!”

*

Lightning cracked overhead, the night sky brightening with the momentary flash of light, followed by a loud bang of thunder a few seconds later. The latest band of the storm had already passed, moving eastward, so there was no accompanying rain, just the damp air and wet grass left from the earlier deluge. So much had been destroyed in the five years since Dean had been mauled to death by Lilith’s Hellhounds, much of that having taken place in the past two under Dean’s own command as Hell laid its claim to Earth.

So much had changed, it was undeniable, but some things had stayed the same, and always would, no matter what. Mother Nature was one of those constants.

When she needed to piss, she took her motherfucking piss.

Dean raised his face upwards, towards the star speckled sky, cool, thick humidity settling on his skin. The left corner of his mouth quirked upwards as he licked the moisture from his bottom lip and savored the clean taste. Soon, very soon, he would be bathed head to toe in a liquid of a very different sort.

Something hot, thick and sticky with a strong coppery odor.

Something demon in origin.

The crooked grin transformed into a jaw-stretching smile. Whistling _Bad Moon Rising_ , Dean jogged up the rickety steps of the porch belonging to the log cabin he stood in front of. He jammed the key he held in his right hand into the lock, twisted it to the left with a violent snap of his wrist, then slammed the door open so hard it bounced off the wall, coming to a stop when it was halfway to being closed again.

“Lucy! I’m home!” he called out, stepping through the opening while shoving the key into the front pocket of his jeans. Though he did kick the door shut behind him, he didn’t bother to lock it. There was no need. This visit would be short, sweet and to the point, for the sole purpose of gathering information. Plus, no one would dare barge in on Dean’s alone time with his company. _No one_.

All the minions of Hell knew how long Dean had waited for this moment. They knew Dean had kept patient for the fifty years it had taken him to slash, kill and absorb the power of higher level demons in his quest to obtain a position of importance himself and for the next fifty it had taken to convince the Masses setting the Morning Star free wasn’t the best way to attain Hell on Earth (because, c’mon, fallen though he was, the dude was still a freaking Archangel, Demons his antithesis at their very core, and who the fuck _cared_ if he was their father because, yeah, he was also the Devil/Satan/Lucifer and that meant he was an untruthful douchebag willing to proclaim his love for his Demon progeny if it got him what he wanted— _out of his fucking cage_ ). They knew Dean had stayed in complete control of himself while taking care of his first order of business as the new self-proclaimed King of Hell, which had been annihilating those few remaining Satanist diehards opposed to Dean and his new way of doing things (and that really said a lot about Dean’s character, damn it, because he would’ve loved nothing more than to rip all his opponents to teensy, tiny shreds rather than sending them off in a respectful manner befitting their higher stations). They knew Dean had even managed to not let his private goals override and distract him too much from the goals of Hell as he’d plotted, strategized and led the Masses in victory after victory over Angels, men, women and children.

So, when it had been revealed earlier that very evening the elusive Demon who had been number one on Dean’s shit list right from the start had been caught, every Demon right on down to the lowliest knew his encounter with her would be the glorious moment Dean let loose.

Meaning only the bravest of the brave would come near this cabin before Dean exited of his own accord and they would only do so if it was a matter of the highest urgency. Of the Sam Winchester was about to die variety. Or of the Heaven had somehow managed to beat the Masses back into Hell kind. And while the former was a _Dean had better damn well know about what had happened months before it happened or hordes upon hordes of Demons were going to be ripped the fuck apart_ , regardless of the fact _none_ of them (not even Dean) had ever been privy to Sam’s location, the latter would probably still be considered too questionable a reason by most to interrupt.

After shrugging out of his leather jacket, Dean hung it on the limb of a vertical piece of wood that looked like a twisted tree trunk that had been plucked from the surrounding forest outside and placed inside the cabin next to the huge, frontward facing picture window. With its high gloss finish, the coat tree was less functional furniture and more work of art. A douchey work of art, but a work of art nonetheless.

Amused, Dean took in the rest of the darkened interior. It had to have been a love affair between Belial and the man he had possessed, the owner of all before Dean. Belial was better known throughout Hell for his horrific tastes than for his actual role as the inventor of all things evil. Hell, the Museums of Bad Art were filled with paintings and other artwork completed by men and women who had been possessed by the Demon or one of his underlings. This place here with its ceiling, wall and floor boards painted in pastel hues of greens and yellows and the furniture upholstered in multiple shades of blues and the brown bear skin rug (head still attached) spread across the center of the living room floor was right up Belial’s alley.

In other words, the décor was terrible. But, before the night was done, Dean would do all he could to make it more enticing. Beginning with the liberal use of crimson streaks on, hell, on _everything_.

A scared mewl drew Dean’s attention to the eclectic blue couch. Where a tiny, brown haired, naked and rope bound female was stretched along the length on her back, her head turned in Dean’s direction. Her demonic form was visible to Dean, but it was the form of the host he focused on. And the strip of duct tape covering lying, pink lips. And eyes which communicated better than any spoken words ever could.

They were blown wide open with fear and apprehension.

As they should be.

“Hel- _lo_ , Lucy,” Dean murmured, striding towards his guest. “And that’s Lucy as in _Trailer Park Boys_ , not _I Love Lucy_ , because, let’s face it, you’re way more of a skanky slut than a funny comedian.” He made sure to stay on the outside of the devil’s trap drawn on the floor boards underneath the sofa, stopping right at its very edge. “Daddy sends his hello, sweetheart. Well, I’m sure he would if he wasn’t still tucked away safely in his cage.”

Dark browns slid closed, hiding despair and failure.

Chuckling, Dean continued, “You really did believe he had gotten out somehow, huh? So sorry to disappoint you, on second thought, no, no, I’m not sorry to disappoint you, but the important thing is, I didn’t know how else to draw you out of hiding, so I started the stories of his escape. I figured the slut has yet to be born who can resist the draw of a good rumor. They’re like a mating call for you guys or some shit.”

Dean pulled his knife out the sheath clipped to the waistband of his jeans. Hunkering down, he balanced himself on his haunches as he placed the sharp tip against the trap’s outer circle. Attention drifting upwards at the muffled sounds of protest, he found the eyes of the powerless Demon were once again open...and focused on the weapon he held.

“Recognize this, do you? Used to be yours, yeah? Well, I’ve found it to be pretty handy on the special occasions I’ve made use of it. Excellent tool for discipline and it was very nice of you to leave it for me to find at Bobby’s in that hasty escape you made last year. Not so nice of you to forget to leave Sam, but, whatever, I’ll find him soon enough. Hey, did you know your knife works on humans, too? Not so much in the—boom!—flash of light, end of existence kind of way, but it still gets the job done. Bobby can attest to that fact.” The wild eyes of his captive, now glittering orbs of obsidian, locked gazes with Dean. He let his own eyes slide white for the briefest of moments as he flashed a toothy grin. “No matter what happens tonight, Ruby, you should know it really is good to see you again. _Really_ good.”

Because with the destruction of Ruby would come the destruction of the last true thorn of any significance in Dean’s side. Bobby was long gone. Rufus was gone. Ellen and Jo were gone, too.

Dean had offed them all in the few moments he’d been able to dedicate to his search for his brother.

Strokes measured, he scratched a line through the white paint, breaking the trap. Dean pushed to his feet and sauntered forward, until he towered over the supine form of the last known supporter of Lucifer who was still alive. The need to shove his knife— _her_ knife and how fucking hilarious was it going to be killing her with it—into the tender, tanned skin of her belly and slice her into two was an overpowering urge he squashed.

There was information he needed from her first before he gutted her like the pig she was. Important information.

This whore knew Sam’s current whereabouts. Which made her invaluable to Dean. And even if she claimed she didn’t know, which she would, Dean knew she did. He could fucking _smell_ his baby brother all over the cunt, the scent fresh and recent. Since it was doubtful Ruby was ever very far from Sam, and vice versa, that meant Sam was somewhere near, _close_.

“But I’m sure you don’t feel the same. No worries though, Rubes, s’all good, no offense taken.” Dean set the knife onto the arm of the couch then sank down onto the cushion home to her roped feet, resituating them so they rested on his lap. He rubbed the chafed skin of her ankles, digging his fingers deep into the bruised flesh, eliciting a pained gasp. “I was thinking, we should play a game. Yeah, we should definitely play a game. You in?”

Head stilled rolled to the side, facing the front door although that placed Dean out of her line-of-sight, Ruby gave a minute shake of her head.

“No? Well, it’s a damn good thing I could give a shit what you want, then, huh? We _are_ going to play a game and the name of the game is _Tell Me Where My Brother Is, Bitch_. There’s only one rule and it’s very simple. _You_ tell _me_ where my brother is, bitch, got it?” Dean waited a second, for Ruby to nod her assent, but when she didn’t he grabbed the big toe of her right foot and yanked hard, jerking the digit out of its socket.

And since one dislocated big toe was one dislocated big toe too few, there were two of them, after all, so that meant they were supposed to be a matched set, he jerked the big toe of her left foot out of its socket, too.

Back arched off the couch, Ruby screamed. Loud. Muffled though it was, the sound was so full of hurt no amount of gagging in the world would’ve been enough to hide its true nature. It went on and on and _on_ until it finally faded into pained whimpers.

Damn, Dean was going to reward Belial well for catching this slut. For having the foresight to ink her with the brand binding her to this human’s body, to this human’s pain, before he’d reached out to Dean in Hell to advise of a, “Gift for you, Boss. One you’ll really like.” By all that was unholy, Dean wouldn’t have had the patience to take care of all the little necessities before getting down to business.

The rumbles starting deep in the pit of his belly, Dean laughed, because this? Was going to be so much fucking fun. “Understand the rules now, princess?”

A jagged jerk up and down of her head was Ruby’s answer. Given immediately and with no further persuasion required.

“Good.” Palming the smooth bone handle of the knife, Dean said, “Now shut up with the fucking whining—” he dug the honed tip of the blade deep enough into her thigh to draw blood and small sparks of light, but not deep enough to end the bitch, and drug it upwards, creating bloody furrows, through her belly, the valley between her tits, over her neck “—and let’s begin round one.”

But before Dean could cut through the tape covering her mouth, the front door swung open with a lot less force than Dean himself had used on entering. A tall form stood on the opposite side of the threshold, identity hidden by both the cover of nighttime outside the cabin and the dimness within.

Eyes narrowed on the broad-shouldered figure, Dean snarled, “You had better have a damned good rea—”

Lightning flashed, thunder boomed and the face of the intruder was revealed even as the man said, “Dean.”

And it was better than Dean could’ve ever hoped. That was Sam standing there. Sam stepping inside. Sam closing the door behind him.

Sam coming to Dean finally— _finally_ —rather than Dean having to go to Sam.

Sam arrived on the scene to save his bitch.

The plan had always been to kill Ruby from the start. To give her a quick death as a _thank you_ after she’d revealed all she knew because Dean was well aware Ruby helping Sam to navigate this new—different—world was the _only_ reason Sam was still alive. Now that plan had changed. Ruby’s demise would be slow and painful and drawn the fuck out. Waaay the fuck out.

Because Dean was a jealous, possessive bastard. Sam. Was. His. And Dean couldn’t handle the irrefutable proof before him demonstrating the many ways he’d been forced to share his brother with another.

But that would be dealt with later. After Dean and Sam had had their reunion. And what a sweet reunion it was going to be.

“Stay,” Dean warned Ruby as he re-sheathed the knife. He jumped to his feet and, five huge steps later, was across the room, pulling his not so little brother into a back-breaking embrace. Fuck, it felt good to hold Sam in his arms again, to have Sam where he was supposed to be, with Dean.

Didn’t even matter Sam wasn’t returning the—

The emotion sweeping through Dean was indescribable, undiluted and pure, as Sam’s muscular arms rose from his sides to wrap around Dean, clutching tight. Maybe...just maybe Sam _was_ here for Dean. Maybe he had missed Dean as much as Dean had missed him.

“Sammy,” Dean breathed, feeling complete for the first time in five years, or six hundred, depending on which day it was and how he chose to look at it.

It felt like they’d been apart for a thousand lifetimes.

“Dean,” Sam said again, pulling back but not all the way out of Dean’s grasp. Weary blue-green-brown eyes stared down at Dean out of a gaunt face of all sharp, hard angles and lines of worry. “I’m here now. I’m _here_.”

Left unspoken was, _Let Ruby go._

Quick as that, reality came crashing back down. Sam wasn’t here because of Dean although Dean wouldn’t be letting him go. Sam was here because of Ruby.

“I know what you want and no can do, bro,” Dean responded, tone regretful but genial as he backed several steps away until he stood at the end of the couch.

Ruby had to atone for her sins. Had to pay for touching Sam, fucking him, hiding him from Dean.

For feeding him her blood those two years Dean had spent on the rack with no visits topside.

Dean hadn’t learned about what had been going on in his absence until he’d gained his freedom in the third year. Even then, he hadn’t been able to put an immediate halt to it. It wasn’t until he’d become the King of Hell he’d been able to do something—by putting out an instant death decree upon discovery of any and all who aided in his brother’s addiction. Ruby had gone to ground with Sam pretty soon after that, both of them vanishing right off the fucking map, but Dean was positive the bitch had stopped bleeding into Sam’s mouth because, yeah, _instant death decree_.

And Ruby was all about self-preservation.

Fucking cockroach.

“Let her go, Dean. This doesn’t concern Ruby. She—”

“Hid you from me.”

“She—”

“Lied to us both about being able to save me from my deal.”

“Yes, but she also—”

“Fucked you.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, an indication his levels of frustration were mounting at a rapid pace, about to morph into anger. “And that’s none of your fucking business.”

Oh, but it was. “A Demon whore fucking my baby brother is none of my business? Guess again, Sammy.”

“Ruby—”

“Got you fucking addicted to Demon blood. Even if I could forgive her for the other transgressions, there is no forgiving that one.” In all the time Sam had been under Dean’s watch, he’d never experimented with anything harder than a little bit of weed and that had always been done _with_ Dean. Two years with this bitch and Sam had formed an addiction to a substance more harmful and corrosive than crack.

“She also helped me to overcome it.”

“Never should’ve happened in the first place.”

Scrubbing a hand over the sparse scruff covering his jaw, Sam sighed, eyes dropping to the ground. When he looked up at Dean again, the frustration and anger were replaced with earnestness. “She did it to help us, Dean. To make me—”

“Strong enough to kill Lilith? Yeah, I know all about that. But what I really want to know is if you know _why_ she wanted you to kill Lilith.”

“What do you mean why? For revenge.”

“Revenge, huh?” A snort of disbelief escaped Dean. “So that’s the line she fed you?”

“It’s not a line. It’s—”

“An untruth. A fabrication. Don’t you get it? Demon’s _lie_.”

And hell if that wasn’t enough to start up a racket from the peanut gallery. Ruby thrashed around on the couch and, even through the tape, it was clear when she screamed, “ _Sam_!”

Dean studied her, her obvious agitation piquing his curiosity. His gaze flitted from the scheming tramp to his clueless brother back to the scheming tramp. It took just the span of a few seconds for a couple of important realizations to hit.

One, Ruby was in love with his brother. Truly, hopelessly in love, something Dean knew was possible despite her demonic nature because of the depth of his own feelings for Sam, which hovered closer to not-quite-so-brotherly nowadays.

Two, she’d never told Sam the truth about Lilith’s plans and, more importantly, the truth about Lucifer’s.

Fucking priceless.

And perfect.

Ruby would die tonight. But not at Dean’s hand. Sam would be the one to kill the bitch.

Dean would make sure of it.

A snap of his fingers and Ruby fell silent and stopped her struggling. Turning to face his brother, Dean asked, “Want to play a game?”

“What’d’ya do to her?” Sam nodded his head in Ruby’s direction.

“Temporary and harmless. So, game, you in?”

“I don’t think now is exactly the time for games, Dean.”

“C’mon, Sam, it’ll be fun. I think you’ll really like this game.”

Tone wary, Sam asked, “What kind of game?”

“The name of the game is _If You Want Your Bitch To Live, Then You Have To Do Everything I Say_. You’re smart, College Boy, so I’m sure you can figure out the rules.”

Sam squared his shoulders so the stance of his body matched the determination plastered across his face. “Tell me what to do.”

“You choose to do this, you better be damned prepared to see it through to the end,” Dean warned. The words were a variation of those spoken by their father when he’d first introduced them, on each of their tenth birthdays, to the world of hunting to convey the importance of staying until a job was complete.

If the pained expression which flitted across Sam’s face was anything to go by, he also recognized the words’ origin. And didn’t appreciate Dean violating their memory by bringing them up in this situation so different than when they’d first been uttered. “Just tell me what to do, Dean.”

For fuck’s sake, if Dean wasn’t so damned excited this was his opportunity to have Sam like he wanted him, he would’ve been fucking furious over his brother’s absolute willingness to do anything required to save Ruby. _But_ , Dean decided, _time enough to be pissed later_.

For now, “Suck my dick.”

Multi-colored eyes wide and mouth hanging open in incredulity, Sam demanded, “You want me to do what?”

“You heard me. And you made your choice. Now get on your knees, crawl over here and suck my dick.”

“Dean, no—”

“You chose that bitch, so now you get to pay the fucking price.” Fondling the only portion of the knife that was exposed, the rounded end of the handle, Dean said, “Crawl, Sammy.”

Sam sank to the floor. “You—”

“Crawl!”

On hands and knees, Sam complied with the order, the sides of his open, well-worn jacket dragging against the hardwood as he moved forward. He stopped right in front of Dean. “Dean,” he pleaded, “Ruby—”

“Shut up.” A cuff on the side of Sam’s head was given to reiterate the point before Dean unlatched his belt. He popped open the button of his jeans then slid the zipper down, his brother’s nervous breaths filling up the dead air between them. “Take it out.”

A shaky hand reached for Dean. Removed Dean’s cock from the confines of its denim prison before immediately drawing back like it had been burned, leaving the hard shaft pointing out at a forty-five degree angle. Suited Dean’s purposes just fine. The hand/blowjob combo had always driven him fucking nuts anyways. And not in the pleasurable way.

Good head required the use of one thing only: a mouth. Didn’t even have to be a willing mouth.

“Suck me.”

Hesitant, Sam leaned forwards, mouth open—

Dean grabbed two fistfuls of his brother’s shaggy, brown hair. The locks were much longer than he remembered and they provided good purchase for him to use to yank Sam forward. With no regards as to Sam’s resistance or his comfort, Dean drug Sam onto his cock, not stopping until he was lodged in the back of Sam’s throat, Sam’s nose pressed snug to his pubes. The hard punches thrown by Sam as his fists connected with Dean’s stomach, sides and chest combined with the unmistakable sound of his choking.

Massaging Sam’s scalp, Dean growled, “Breathe through it, Sammy! Damn it, _breathe_!”

Fingers clutched at Dean’s jean clad hips, the grip hard enough that the material wouldn’t stop the inevitable bruising, as Sam did as Dean commanded. Sam’s throat opened and closed with each breath he took, the automatic convulsive swallows massaging the head of Dean’s dick, causing shivers to course up and down his spine.

Fuck, Dean was in Sam.

 _Fuck_ , Dean was _in_ Sam.

He couldn’t think of a better place to be. Of another place he _wanted_ to be.

“Just breathe through it,” Dean soothed. He flicked his gaze to the side, away from his brother’s closed eyed, flushed and sweaty face, towards Ruby. Though still silent and motionless, the fire lighting her orbs, brown again, made it clear she fought Dean’s power with every inch of her being, made it clear she wanted to murder him. _Mine, bitch_ , he mouthed with a wink before returning his attention to Sam. “That’s right, Sammy, just breathe through it.”

Sam’s tongue rolled along the underside of Dean’s length, an involuntary action that was freaking hot nonetheless. Although he was as deep as he was going to get, Dean used his grip on Sam’s skull to try to pull Sam in closer. He ground against his brother’s face, his sac tight to his body.

“Damn, man, your mouth.” Dean groaned, nutting, pulse after pulse racing out of his body. Into Sam’s. “Your motherfucking _mouth_.”

With a final shudder, Dean fell back against the couch and plopped his ass on its arm. He untangled his hands from the silky strands of his brother’s hair. Sam collapsed down to the ground, a long string of spit and come connecting him to Dean until it was broken when he bounced to his feet in the next moment.

In Sam’s hand was—

—Ruby’s Demon killing knife.

This was all so...expected.

“Gonna kill me, Sammy?” Dean asked, tucking himself back into his pants and doing up his fly. “Gonna murder your big brother?”

“You’re not...you’re not my...”

Huh. Interesting. Just as Dean could never deny Sam, apparently Sam could never deny Dean either. This boded well for their future together. It was a solid start. “I’m not your what?”

Silence.

“Tell me what I’m not, Sam,” Dean pressed. “Say it. _Say it_."

“Shut up.”

“You can’t, can you? Because you know as well as I do that I will _always_ be your big brother.”

“ _Shut up_.” Sam spat the remainder of Dean’s come he hadn’t swallowed on the floor and swiped the back of his free hand against lips red and swollen with abuse.

Dean’s cock twitched. He wanted to fuck Sam’s mouth again. He _would_ fuck Sam’s mouth again. Only, next time, he would _suck_ Sam’s tongue clean. “Soon as you tell me what I’m not.”

“Damn it, Dean, I said _shut the fuck up_.”

Unable to hold back his sigh of disappointment, Dean folded his arms across his chest and regarded his baby brother. “At least tell me why, Sam? Why Ruby?”

The mixture of emotions playing across Sam’s expressive face was a contradictory blend that belonged together. Anger, grief, confusion. Voice pitched low, Sam answered, “Because she’s the only thing I have left from _before_.”

From before Dean went to Hell.

From before Dean came back.

From before Dean planted every person he and Sam had a tangible connection to six feet under without remorse.

“Fair enough.” Dean nodded his head. “But you should really know the truth of this whore you’re protecting before you try to kill me.” He pushed up and off the couch, positioned himself so he stood facing Sam. “See, I learned some very interesting things while downstairs. Such as the fact that the Apocalypse was always going to happen.”

“But why did you start it?” Meeting Dean’s stare head on, Sam snarled, “ _You_ didn’t have to be the one to start it.”

“Because if I hadn’t started it, do you know who would’ve? You. And guess whose—” Dean used his fingers to make imaginary quotation marks “— _guidance_ you would’ve been following the whole time you were obliviously leading the world to its merry end?” Troubled hazels, uncertain and confused, flicked to Ruby before settling on Dean again. “That’s right, Sam. So, you see, it was necessary for me to start the beginning of the end before _you_ did because I’m an awesome big brother like that. And also because you’re a whiny emo bitch and you would’ve killed yourself if you had been the one to do it because in so doing you also would’ve inadvertently freed Lucifer from this nifty little cage he’s locked away in.”

“ _Lucifer_? What does Lucifer—”

“ _And it is written, that the first demon shall be the last seal_. Lilith was the first demon Lucifer made, Sam. If I hadn’t disrupted Hell’s original plan, you would’ve killed her and set Lucifer free. And once he was free, he had every intention of wearing you to the prom. His very own personalized monkey suit. And our little Ruby here would’ve been more than happy to continue spinning on your dick, _his dick_ —”

“I get it now, Dean. You made your point. Ruby’s a lying, manipulative whore.”

“With a daddy kink. Dude, you _can’t_ forget the daddy kink.”

“Don't.” Sam grimaced. "Just...don't."

“You wanna know something else, Sammy? That bitch is not the only thing you have left from before.” Dean walked towards Sam. Stopped by his side and leaned in close so his lips skimmed Sam’s ear. “ _I_ am.” He moved past his brother, to the door of the cabin where he paused and grabbed his jacket. Before making his exit, he said, “If you still want to kill me, I won’t stop you, but I also won’t let you succeed.”

Lightning cracked overhead, the night sky brightening with the momentary flash of light, followed by a loud bang of thunder a few seconds later. The next band of the storm had arrived, bringing with it fat drops of rain. Face tilted towards the sky, Dean shrugged into his leather and stood in the same exact spot as earlier, letting the water cascade over him.

He shared a connection with each and every last Demon. Hundreds of thousands of bonds to what were now his children by default of his position. The connection wasn’t much good for anything, just a link letting him know they were there. Didn’t tell him where they were or what they were up to, not that he really cared to know in most cases, the sole exception being the Demon he’d just felt wink out of existence.

It was a bittersweet victory. Because as long as Dean had been able to feel Ruby, he’d always known Sam was safe wherever he was.

The door to the cabin banged shut. A few moments later, Sam stood behind Dean. “Demons lie, you said so yourself, so why am I supposed to believe anything you say?”

“Because sometimes, sometimes we also tell the truth.” And Dean had been telling the truth. It may not have been full disclosure, but that was because Sammy didn’t need to know about the loyal sons, Dean and the Archangel Michael, and how they were supposed to kill the brats, Sam and Lucifer.

It was something that was never going to happen. Lilith was dead by Dean’s own hand and all the seals remained unbroken which meant Lucifer was never getting out.

“What the fuck just happened in there, Dean?”

The conversation was no longer about Ruby. She was now just water under the bridge.

“For every action there is a reaction,” Dean answered. “I had to—” _remind you who you belong to since you picked that bitch._ “You—” _are mine, for all of eternity_. “It’s just us, man. Me and you.” _Something you’ll learn quick_. Dean turned to face his brother, who still held the weapon he’d used to kill Ruby, the bloody, silver blade pointed towards the ground. Changing the subject, Dean repeated his questions from earlier in a soft voice, “Gonna kill me, Sammy? Gonna murder your big brother?”

“I...I can’t.” White fingers let the knife fall down to the moist earth. “Damn you, you _know_ I can’t.”

Dean did. Because he’d never in a million years be able to kill Sam. “Gonna run again?”

“How far would you let me get?”

Shrugging, Dean asked, “Would a ten minute head start help?”

“Ten minute—” A burst of laughter bubbled up and out of Sam, the sound grating and hysterical, but also full of genuine amusement. “A two year head start didn’t help so ten minutes isn’t going to do shit but leave both of us soaking wet and pissed off. But it doesn’t matter because I’m not going to kill you, Dean, and I’m not going to run from you either.” Speaking to himself, Sam added, “God have mercy on my soul, I’m going to stay right by your side.”

Dean stood in the rain, face-to-face with the man he’d gone to Hell for. The man he’d ended the fucking world for. The man he battled against Heaven everyday for.

Partner. Friend. Companion.

Brother.

And he would do everything all over a second time, the same exact way, no changes, in a heartbeat and with no questions asked.

For Sam.

 _SamSammySam_.

God have mercy on any and all stupid enough to try and come between them.

 _Some things_ , Dean thought, _stayed the same, and always would, no matter what._

Dean’s love for Sam was one of those constants. As was Sam’s love for him.


End file.
